Page 13

While I ponder a comeback—she truly has me speechless—my father shows at the door and nods to me, so I walk out with him.

He's slow on the stairs. The illness took forty pounds off him seven years ago and gave most of them back, but he takes the corridor like he's got all night. We're through the doors and under the car park lights before he says anything.

"Say her name."

"Manon Valmont."

He stops walking.

"Manon," he says.

I understand he isn't hearing it for the first time, but I had no idea he’d also figured it out.

"You know her name."

"I've known her name for seven years."

"How?"

"I asked." He says it like I'm being slow. "I was flat on my back with a tube in my chest and they'd told your mother to start making funeral arrangements. Then somebody pushed for more tests. So I asked who. A nurse gave me a name. I had it checked, because I'm not an idiot, and the answer came back as Manon Valmont." He looks me in the eye. "Henri's daughter saved my life and I've never once said it out loud to you or anyone."

I stand there trying to work out where to put that admission. Of course, he isn’t the only one who secretly knows.

Seven years. I found her name and built my existence around it since. The whole time he’s known as well, and neither of us ever mentioned a thing.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I know you." He starts walking again, towards the car. "You'd have tried to pay her. You can't pay a Valmont, so you'd have found some other way to settle the debt, and I didn't want you anywhere near that girl. You had a temper then. You'd have made it worse just by turning up."

"And after? You've had a long time to disclose that info."

"After, I decided it was safer in my mouth than anywhere else. You say a name at a dinner, somebody hears it, and one day a man who hates me knows exactly where to find the doctor who kept me alive." He shrugs. "I thought I was the only one keeping quiet about her."

The doors slide open behind us and somebody's family comes out into the light and walks past us.

"How long have you wanted her?" my father says.

"That's not what this is."

"Laszlo." He stops at the passenger door and turns round. "You've lied to me since you could talk and you're very good at it. You're not good at it tonight."

A car pulls into the row behind us. A woman gets out with a child on her hip and hurries to the entrance.

I don't answer him.

He doesn't ask again. He looks down at his shoes for a while, and when he lifts his head, he's got the face he wore that time they told him how grave his condition was.

"Then listen to me. That girl has a life. A job, a home, a name that isn't in anybody's file in this big old city. She got out of her father’s world and built her own destiny. She’s now stepping into some shit, thanks to you." He points at the building behind us, at the window where my mother’s standing. "I'm alive because of her. So whatever this marriage is, whatever you're doing and I'm sure you know exactly what you're doing—be certain it does not cost her that life. She goes back to it at the end of the year with everything she came in with at least."

"She will."

"Say it properly."

"She'll have her life."

He watches me for a second longer than is comfortable, then puts his hand out.

I take it. It's an old man's hand now. The grip isn't weak, though.